Left Behind
by Mustardlover16
Summary: Clary lies with Jace as he dies, leaving her alone, so alone. One shot.


This time it seemed he wasn't coming back. This time it seemed he'd gone and done it and that was it. He was gone.

She reacted much differently than she had ever thought she would. Clary received news of his death she simply went blank, painfully blank. She sat staring, dull and lifeless. Whenever she imagined her reaction to his death it always called for such dramatics, such hysterics. Balling for hours, screaming, asking endlessly _why, why, why._

She knew why. It was because he was selfless, he was brave. He had to be the hero. He couldn't say no to a fight. He didn't think, he only acted. She knew long before she got the news, long before she and Jace were together that he'd die fighting.

He never took fighting seriously enough. It was almost like a game to him. He could waltz in and out, going hunting for this, rescuing that, but she had to stay home like a good girl and wait for him to come back. She was always his _favorite person_ when he came home and needed some healing runes.

They told her they'd be bringing the body soon. A single tear dripped down her cheek at the news. It seemed that all those shooting stars she had wished on had simply been planes. It seemed all those prayers she prayed got lost within the masses.

Despite all of Jace's faults she couldn't help but love him. Of course, she couldn't help but miss him! His laugh was her life, his smile her sun. His hugs were her warmth and his kisses her fire. Jace seemed to exude this wonderful lively force. He seemed to have his own field of gravity. Once she was sucked in there was no escaping. She didn't want to escape. But now that he was gone, so too was his gravitational field. She had nothing holding her up, nothing suspending her and so she fell, down, down down.

It was only when they brought him too her that she finally cried. It wasn't because he was dead. No, in fact he wasn't dead. It was simply the fact that he would be soon, and she could do nothing to stop it, only wait and watch him expire. It would be quiet soon. He wouldn't suffer much longer.

In some ways she wanted him to suffer, as long as possible, because at least it meant he was alive! If he was alive there was some semblance of hope, some tattered remnant of optimism.

They laid him on her bed and left silently. They were nameless to her, faceless to her. Useless and meaningless to her. Nothing but him meant anything to her. She sat on a chair right next to the bet and brushed his golden hair away from his sticky forehead. His hair was matted with sweat and blood. She retrieved a small bowl of water and a washcloth. She set to work washing his face, his neck, cleaning it of any sign of blood and dirt.

When she was halfway finished with her task, he stirred. His eyes opened slowly but easily, as if he knew he were safe and he was taking his time waking up from a nice nap. She dropped the cloth and her fingers shakily rested on his feverish cheeks.

"Hello, love." He whispered hoarsely. She said nothing, only rested her forehead to his.

He coughed sporadically and Clary dove into action. She flailed for her steel, frantically etching all manners of healing runes into his skin. Though his coughing subsided Clary remained desperately carving the stinging runes into his flesh. "Stop, Clary. Stop." She wouldn't. There was only one thing he could say to stay her hands. His voice was soft, heartbroken, as he said, "You'll only make it worse, love. Please stop."

She did stop, she tore away from him, wide eyed and sobbing. "I'm sorry, Clary, so sorry."

She lurched forward, clutching at him. "I love you. All I want is to love you. Don't go, don't go."

He wished, with every ounce of his being, to his very core that he could stay. His feeble heart ached a little more with every word she spoke and every tear she shed. "I love you so much, Clary. God, I'm so sorry."

She only cried harder. He pulled her head against his chest, stroking her hair with a shaky hand. He controlled it as much as he could. He'd make it as easy for her as possible.

They laid there for hours as his breathing became slower and more labored. At once he took a shaky intake of breath. They both knew it'd be his last. He used it to say, "I love you. I always will."

He died then, quietly. The faceless returned in response to Clary's desperate shrieks. Despite her desperation, she didn't lay a finger on his body, only sobbed and shook.

A horrid, faceless, pale, looming figure confirmed, "His heart no longer beats," in a gravely, and oddly formal voice.

Clary turned, her sobs momentarily contained. Her face stained, tear streaked and red she whispered, "Neither does mine."


End file.
